And The Darkness Rained Upon Them
by Kitty Chester
Summary: Darquesse is gone from the world, but what happens next? Contains a few of my OC's and some people that died in the last couple of books are alive, mainly the dead men coz they are amazing. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

Five in the morning and Danny is up, rolling slowly out of bed, eyes half open as his bare feet touch the floor boards. Getting up this early is worse in the winter, when the cold threatens to push him back under the covers. Colorado winters are something to behold, as his dear departed dad would say, and Danny isn't one to argue with his dear departed dad. But the summers are warm, and so he sits on the edge of his bed without shivering, and after a dull minute he forces his eyes open wide, stands up and dresses.

He goes downstairs, puts the coffee on while he opens the store. Five thirty every morning except Sundays, the General Store is open and ready for business. It was that way when Danny was a boy and his folks ran the place, and it's that way now that Danny is twenty-seven and his folks are cold and quiet and lying side by side in the ground. On his more maudlin days, Danny also likes to think his dreams are buried down there with them too, but he knows this is unfair. He tried to be a musician; he moved to LA and formed a band and when it didn't all happen the way he wanted he scampered back home to take over the family business.

He quit, and there's no one to blame but himself.

By six, the town of Meek Ridge is awake. People stop by on the way to work, and he speaks to them with none of that easy patter his mom had been famous for. Back when she was alive, she'd talk the hind legs off a donkey, and she'd always be quick to crinkle up her eyes and laugh. His dad was more measured, more reserved, but people around here still liked him well enough. Danny doesn't know what they think of him, the wannabe rock star who lit out as soon as he finished school and sulked back with his tail between his legs years later. Probably just as well.

Early morning grows into mid-morning, and mid-morning sprouts wings and becomes a hot, sun-blasted afternoon. Unless there's a customer perusing the shelves, Danny stands at the door, cold bottle of Coke in his hand, watching the cars pass on Main Street and the people walk by, everyone seeming like they have things to do and places to go. By around three, business has picked up, same as it always does, and that keeps him busy and away from the sunshine, until finally, he raises his head and it's coming up to his favourite time of the week.

He takes out the list even though he doesn't need it, just to make sure he hasn't missed anything. When he's done, he's filled two large grocery bags - the reusable canvas kind, not paper or plastic. He locks up, puts the bags on to the passenger seat of his dented old Ford and drives out of Meek Ridge with the window down, his busted AC not doing a whole lot to dispel the trapped heat. By the time the road gets narrower, he's already sweating a little, and as he follows the twisting dust trail, he can feel the first trickle of perspiration running between his shoulder blades.

Finally, he comes to the locked gate and waits there, the engine idling. He doesn't get out and hit the intercom button. Same time every week, he's here and she knows it. Hidden somewhere in the trees or the bushes, a camera is focused on his face. He's stopped tying to spot it. He just knows it's there. The gate clicks, opens slowly, and he drives through.

The previous owner of this farm died when Danny was a teenager, and the buildings fell into disrepair and the fields, hundreds of acres of them, got overgrown with weeds and such. Now the fields are meadows, lush and vast and green, and the buildings have either been salvaged or rebuilt from scratch. A fence encircles the property, too tall to climb over, too sturdy to break. There are hidden cameras everywhere, and every last thing is rigged with alarms. Stories of the farm's new owner swept through Meek Ridge like a tidal wave when she first moved in, and ever since the waters have been unsettled.

There are those who say she's an actress who's had a breakdown, or an heiress who rejected her family's lavish lifestyle. Others reckon she's in Witness Protection, or the widowed wife of a European gangster. The tidal wave has left behind it pools and streams of gossip in which rumours and stories and outright lies ebb and flow, and Danny doubts ant of them even remotely touch upon the truth. Not that he knows what the truth is. The farm's new owner is almost as much a mystery to him as to anyone else in town. Only difference between them is that he gets to meet her once a week.

He pulls up to the farmhouse. She's sitting in a rocking chair, an actual ricking chair, in the shade on the porch, something she likes to do most warm evenings wit her dog curled up beside her. He takes the grocery bags, one in each arm, and walks up the steps as she puts down the book she's reading and stands. She looks to be nineteen or thereabouts, with dark hair and dark eyes, but she's been living here for over five years and she hasn't changed a bit, so he reckons she's somewhere around twenty-four or so.

Pretty. Real pretty. She has a single dimple when she smiles, which isn't quite so much a rare sight any more. Her legs are long and strong, tanned in cut-off jeans, scuffed hiking boots on her feet. This evening she wears a sleeveless T-shirt, the name of some band he's never heard of emblazoned across it. She has a tattoo on her left arm, from the shoulder to the elbow. Some kind of tribal thing, maybe. Weird symbols that almost look like hieroglyphics.

"Hi there," he says.

Xena, the German shepherd who never leaves her side, growls at him, showing teeth.

"Xena, hold," she says, talking quietly but with an edge to her voice. Xena stops growling, but those eyes never leave Danny's throat. "You're early," she says, focusing on him at last.

Danny shrugs. "Slow day. Decided to give myself some time off. That's one of the advantages of being your own boss, you know?"

She doesn't respond. For a girl who lives up here with only a dog for company, she isn't someone who embraces the gentle art of conversation.

She pulls open the screen door, then the door beyond, beckons him through. H brings the groceries inside, Xena padding behind him like an armed escort. The farmhouse is big and old and bright and clean. Lots of wood. Everything is heavy and solid, the kind of solid you'd grab on to to stop yourself from floating away. Danny feels like that sometimes, as if one of these days, he'd just float away and no one would notice.

He pits the groceries on the kitchen table, looks up to say something, realises he's alone in here with the dog. Xena sits on her haunches, ears pricked, tail flat and still, staring at him.

"Hi there," he says softly.

Xena growls.

"Here," she says from right beside him and Danny jumps, spins quickly to the dog in case she mistakes his sudden movement for aggressiveness. But Xena just sits there, no longer growling, looking entirely innocent and not unamused.

Danny smiles self-consciously, takes the money he's offered. "Sorry," he says. "I always forget how quietly you walk. You're like a ghost."

Something in the way she looks at him makes him regret his choice of words, but before he can try to make things better she's already unpacking the bags.

He stands awkwardly and tells himself to keep quiet. He knows the routine by now. As she busies herself with packing away the groceries, she will ask, in the most casual of tones-

"How are things in town?"

"Good," Danny says, because that's what he always says. "Things are quiet, but good. There's gonna be a Starbucks opening on Main Street. Etta, she owns the coffee shop on the corner, she's not to happy, and she tried to have a town meeting to stop it from happening. But no one went. People want Starbucks, I think. And the don't really like Etta."

She nods like she cares, and then she asks, just as he knew she would, "Any new faces?"

"Just the usual number of people passing through."

"No one asking about me?"

Danny shakes his head. "No one."

She doesn't respond. Doesn't smile or sigh or look disappointed. It's just a question she needs answered, a fact she needs confirmed. He's never asked who she's waiting for, or who she's expecting, or if someone asking about her would be a good thing or a bad thing. He doesn't ask because he knows she wont tell him.

She closes the kitchen cabinet, folds one of the canvas bags into the other, hands them both back to Danny.

"Could you bring some eggs next time?" Stephanie asks. "I think I'll be in the mood for an omelette."

He smiles. "Sure," he says. He's always been a sucker for the Irish accent.


	2. Chapter 2

Winter's come, and it's a slow day, ad cold, and Danny is in the backroom strumming on his guitar, a battered old six-string he's had since he was fourteen. Inspired by Stephanie, he's singing 'Spancil Hill' by the Dubliners.

He's playing softly enough to listen out for the bell over the door, and when it tinkles he puts down the guitar and walks out to greet his prospective customer. Two of them, actually. There's a tall old man over by the magazine rack, his back to Danny, and a younger, shorter, fatter man waiting at the counter. He has a black goatee beard that is failing in its attempt to hide twin moles, one on his upper lip, one on his chin. His thinning hair is long, pulled back into a ponytail. He looks like he'd be more comfortable in a grubby Black Sabbath T-shirt, but here he is, stuffed into his shirt and tie like a sulky schoolboy forced to dress up for church.

"Do you sell rat poison?" is the first thing he says.

"Afraid not," says Danny, "but we do have some rat repellers that work on an ultrasonic frequency if you have a rodent problem."

The fat man considers this by chewing his lip. "You sell knives?"

"Penknives, yes."

"Hunting knives?"

"No."

"OK. You sell hammers?"

"We have a few," says Danny. "Other side of the shelf behind you."

The fat man doesn't even glance over his shoulder. Usually this kind of time-wasting is done by kids to distract Danny from shoplifting going on elsewhere, but the only other person in the store is the old man, and he stays in plain sight.

"You sell guns?" the fat man asks.

"No," says Danny, the hairs on the back of his neck starting to prickle.

"Pity," says the fat man. "I like guns."

He doesn't say it in a threatening manner - in fact, he says it wistfully, almost like a sigh - but a feeling starts to grow in the hinterland of Danny's mind, and it grows fast and it grows big.

The fat man has a Boston accent. A long way to travel for a hammer and some rat poison. With just the counter between them, Danny can examine the unhealthy pallor of the man's skin and pick out the different stains on the badly-knotted tie, fixed so tight it makes tick rolls of flesh bulge out of his shirt collar.

"Anything else I can help you with?" Danny asks, meaning _you can leave my store any time now, thank you very much,_ but the fat man doesn't take the hint, and he stays where he is, eyes moving sluggishly over the racks of stuff on the wall before he comes to something that snags his interest.

"You sell padlocks."

"Yes we do," says Danny. "You want one?"

The fat man shakes his head. "We have all we need. Chains, too. I was just remarking on the fact that you have them, that's all. Doesn't mean I intend to buy any."

"Right."

For the first time, the fat man's eyes meet Danny's. It isn't a pleasant experience. "You shouldn't be so quick to try to sell me things. That's the problem with this country, you know. That's the problem with America. Everyone is out for number one. Everyone's out for themselves. So eager to part me from my money. If I keeled over of a heart attack this very moment, you probably wouldn't think twice about rifling through my wallet before calling for an ambulance, would you?"

"I'm sorry," Danny says. "You pointed out the padlocks. I took that to mean you were interested in buying one."

"Didn't I just say I have enough padlocks? What are you, stupid?"

The last of Danny's politeness washes away. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave my store."

The fat man's eyes bulge. "What? You're the one who started this! You're the one trying to take my money! Customer's always right, you ever heard that? _The customer is always right._ You were being stupid and dumb and selfish, and what, I'm not allowed to call you on it? I'm not allowed to stand up for ordinary, decent values?"

"Leave or I'll call the police."

" _Police?_ " the fat man screeches, his face going deep red. "You're the one in the wrong! I'm the victim here! Call the police! Go on, do it! We'll let _them_ decide who here is the aggressive party! Oh, not so cocksure now, are you, now that I've called your bluff?"

"Are you going to leave, or not?"

The fat man's lip curls unattractively. "What's wrong - you don't want me to make a scene in front of all these customers?"

"What are you talking about? The only other person in here is your friend."

"Who him?" says the fat man. "I've never seen that gentleman before in my life."

On cue, the old man turns, smiling. His face is a fascinating map of lines and wrinkles clustered round the landmarks of his features. A large nose, small, bright eyes, a thin, wide mouth. His hair is white and trails off his mottled scalp in thin wisps. There is something of the vulture about him.

He marches forward, moving surprisingly smoothly for someone so elderly, his gnarled hands held at his sides. "Pardon me ever so," he says, "but I couldn't help but overhear this lively debate from where I stood, perusing the magazine stall. If I may interject, in the spirit of an impartial observer and a stranger to you both, I would offer the opinion that a simple misunderstanding is at the root of this current discord. May I enquire as to your names, kind sirs, so as to better sow the seeds of calmness and brotherhood?"

"My name is Jeremiah Wallow," says the fat man, standing a little straighter. "I hail from Boston, in Massachusetts, which is in the region known as New England."

"It is a singular pleasure to meet you, Jeremiah Wallow," says the old man. "And may I say what an unusual last name you have. My last name, Gant, is somewhat of a rarity also. Originally I came from a small town in a small country in Europe, but as you can probably tell by my accent I have long since made my home in the Midwest, specifically in St Louis, and that is in Missouri. And you, young man? May I inquire as to your details?"

Danny looks at them both. "I'm Danny," he says.

They wait, but he offers nothing more. The old man, Gant, widens his smile. "And where do you hail from, Danny? Are you a native of Meek Ridge?"

"I am."

"That must have been marvellous, to have been raised in such beauteous surroundings. I myself cannot remember a town with such natural charm. Can you, Mr Wallow?"

"I cannot," says Jeremiah.

"You have lived here all your life, then?" Gant asks Danny. "You have watched the comings and goings of your friends and neighbours? And this being, in fact, the General Store, situated as it is on the main thoroughfare, I doubt there is anything, or indeed anyone, that escapes your notice for very long, now is there?"

Danny waits for him to get to the point.

"I dare say you hear an awful lot of accents, do you not?" Gant says. "Accents and dialects and brogues and burrs. What's your favourite? Do you have one? Personally I have always been partial to the Scots accent. It's the way they roll their r's. Do you have a preference, Danny my boy?"

"Not really."

"No? No favourite? What about you, Mr Wallow? Or may I call you Jeremiah?"

"I insist on it," says Jeremiah. "And I would say, if asked, which you have, that out of all the accents in all the world, Irish is my favourite, what with me being a Boston boy."

Gant claps his hands. "Irish! Yes! Oh, those beautiful lilts and those soft t's, every word an event unto itself. I knew an Irishman once - he could charm the birds out of a bush, as the saying goes, and it was all down to that accent. What do you think of the Irish accent, Danny?"

Danny works very hard to keep his expression neutral. "Don't have much of an opinion on it."

"You don't?" says Gant. "Well, my boy, in that case, you need to listen to an Irish person speak in order to form one. What are we without our opinions, after all? When was the last time you heard an Irish person speak?"

Gant looks at him, all smiles, while Jeremiah's eyebrows are raised gently in a quizzical manner.

"Guess it was the last time I saw a Liam Neeson movie," Danny says.

Gant waves his hand dismissively. "Movies hardly count. Real life, now that is the only experience worth having. When was the last time you heard an Irish person speak in real life?"

"Years ago," Danny says. "Probably when I was in LA. Don't really remember."

Gant's smile fades a little. "I see."

"No Irish around here?" Jeremiah asks.

Danny shakes his head.

"No Irish girls?" Jeremiah says. "Irish women? You sure?"

"Meek Ridge doesn't have a whole lot to offer," says Danny. "We don't get many people moving in. We usually get people moving out."

"And you say," presses Gant, "no Irish?"

"Nope."

"Well... that is odd."

"You were expecting some?" asks Danny.

"Expecting one," says Gant. "Friend of mine. Niece, actually. Dark hair. Tall. Pretty. Kind of girl you'd remember."

"What's her name?"

Gant smiles again. "Thank you for your time, Danny, but I must be going. Jeremiah, might I offer you a lift?"

"That would be most kind," says Jeremiah, trailing after the old man as he walks from the store.

They leave, and the bell tinkles, and silence rushes in.


	3. Chapter 3

After Gant and Jeremiah leave the store, Danny counts to sixty, then steps out into the cold air and looks up and down the street. He can't see them. He returns to the warmth of the store, and stands behind the counter. He gives himself a half-hour of standing there, then fills two grocery bags. He hopes Stephanie won't mind getting her delivery on a Wednesday instead of a Thursday. He decides she won't, not when he tells her his real reason for being there.

He closes up early, puts the bags on the passenger seat of his car and pulls put into traffic. If anyone tries following him, they'll find themselves lost in the school run. Hopefully. It starts to snow, and he realises how cold it is. He puts the heater on full blast and leaves town, heading north, part on a loose convoy of cars and pickups. One by one they turn off the narrowing roads, until there is just Danny with one other car in his rear-view. It's dark by this stage, and Danny swings smoothly round a bend and picks up speed on the straight, but when there are no headlights behind him he slows a little and drives on, the wipers sweeping snowflakes into little triangles on his windshield.

He doesn't know what he'd expected when he imagined someone actually asking about her. He'd expected journalists, maybe photographers, or cops. Maybe the FBI or the Marshals Service or someone. He hadn't expected an old man and a fat man. He hadn't expected the menace they brought with them. Not for the first time, he wonders about Stephanie, about who she is and what she's done. Maybe today's the day she'll tell him. He hopes she wont have to kill him afterwards.

Approaching the turn-off for her farm, Danny happens to glance in his wing mirror and catches a glint of something behind him in the snow, something polished and dark. He curses, once and loudly, and tugs at the wheel, fishtailing slightly before getting the car back under control. He passes the turn to Stephanie's place, his palms sweaty, his throat dry. They had turned their headlights off and he'd almost led them straight to her. Almost.

Danny keeps driving, his mind a frozen blank. What happens now? Is he going to drive until he runs out of gas? Out of road? What will happen once they realise he's been driving aimlessly? Will they pull him over? What will they do to him? What are they capable of? Will they hurt him?

He doesn't know, he can't know, but he feels it. He feels sure they'll hurt him. An old man and a fat man. He's young, in better condition than either of them, but he's never been in a fight in his life. Not even at school. He isn't built for physical confrontation. He has not idea what to do. He digs in his pocket, yanks out his phone. No signal. He curses again, but this one is quiet, like he doesn't want them to hear.

Will they have weapons? The fat one, Jeremiah, he'd been asking about hunting knives and guns. _I like guns._ Danny doesn't have a gun. There's probably a tyre iron in the trunk, but as far as weapons go, that's it. There's nothing but maps in the glove box and an empty coffee container in the cup holder. In the grocery bags there are a few steaks, chicken breasts and some celery and soft drinks and a dozen other useless items. He could possibly throw the grocery bags at them when they run at him, but he doesn't think that'll domuch good.

Then an idea occurs to him.

He drives on for another few minutes, slowing down as he reaches a turn. He takes a smaller road left, trying to drive casual, the car jolting every time it hits a pothole. After a minute or two, he pulls up outside an old cabin, gets out and grabs the grocery bags from the passenger seat. He taks his time, waits until he sees, out of the corner of his eye, the black car crawling up through the swirling snow and patches of darkness. Once he feels sure they can see him, Danny walks up to the cabin door and knocks.

He knocks again.

 _Oh, God, please be home please be home please be-_

The door opens. Eddie Sullivan peers up at him suspiciously. It takes a few moments for the old man to recognise Danny outside of the store.

"Hello, Mr Sullivan," Danny says, smiling brightly. "I thought you might be having a little trouble getting to town with the snow and all, so I figured I'd come up here and deliver a few essentials."

Eddie peers at the bags. "I didn't order nothing."

"I know," says Danny. "Just being neighbourly."

Eddie chews his lip. "I didn't order it, so I ain't paying for it."

Danny nods. "Sounds reasonable. May I come in?"

Eddie grunts, but shuffles sideways and allows Danny to step in out of the snow. Danny puts the bags on the table and immediately goes to the window, makes sure not to disturb the curtains as he peers out. The black car crawls by, headlights still off. It's an old model, a Cadillac by the looks of it. He sees a flash of Jeremiah's pale, fleshy face pressed up against the passenger window, staring at the cabin, before the Cadillac does a U-turn and goes back the way it came.

"This gonna be a regular thing, then?" Eddie asks. "You running a delivery service?"

Danny turns, watches him root through the bags. "I'm just trying it out, seeing how it works. Think of it as a one-off kind of thing, then-"

"I'll take it," says Eddie. "The delivery service. But next time don't bring so much damn celery or feminine hygiene products."

"Right. Yeah."

"Stay there. I'll make a list for you. Add more beers."

It takes Eddie Sullivan ten minutes to scrawl out a messy list on the back of a crumpled receipt, and then Danny is back in his rapidly cooling car. He puts the heat on again, cruises slowly back towards civilisation, but this time he keeps his headlights off. No sign of the black Cadillac. He takes the turn for Stephanie's farm, stops at the gate and jums out, runs to the intercom. He presses it and waits, standing in clear view so that the camera, wherever it is, can see him. Aftera few moments, the gate opens, and he drives through.

Stephanie is waiting for him when he pulls up, standing in the warm light of her front door. She's dressed in jeans, boots and a heavy oversized sweater. Her hair is pulled back. Danny gets out of the car, jogs up to her.

"Hope you don't mind your groceries coming a day early," he says.

"I wouldn't," she responds, "if you'd brought them."

He looks down at his empty arms. "Oh, yeah. I gave them away, actually. To Eddie Sullivan. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. I'm sure he'll enjoy the hygiene products. Come in out of the snow."

He hurries in and she closes the door and Xena raises her head from where she lies by the crackling fire. When she sees it's only Danny, she outs her head down and goes back to sleep. On the armchair beside her there's a blanket tossed to one side, and an open paperback lying on a cushion.

"Everything OK?" Stephanie asks.

"Not really," says Danny, turning to her. "Two men came into the store looking for you."

No widening of eyes or dropping of jaw. Stephanie doesn't go pale or stagger back. She just stands there and nods, waits a moment and then asks, "What did they say?"

"They came in, pretended they didn't know each other. They had this, this... routine worked out. An overweight man with a ponytail, said his name was Jeremiah Wallow, and an old man who said his name was Gant."

"Never heard of them, " says Stephanie. "Go on."

"They came in, and Jeremiah started asking if I sell rat poison or hunting knives or guns. He said something about already having padlocks and chains. Then Gant came over and they started talking about where they were from, and their favourite accents, and they asked if I'd heard any Irish accents recently and if I knew any Irish women in town. I said no."

"Thank you."

"They seemed surprised. I waited a bit, then came up here, but they followed me."

"That's why you went to Sullivan," Stephanie says. "You gave him my groceries to throw them off the scent. Clever."

2"If I was clever, I wouldn't have led them up here in the first place."

"You sure they didn't follow you here?"

"Pretty sure."

Stephanie looks away, considering the situation, then she turns and walks into another room. Danny hesitates, and follows slowly, clearing his throat to announce his presence. He finds her in a rom lit up by a bank of security monitors that show images of entry points all around the property. Not only is there a camera at the gate, like he's always known, but there's also one at the turn on to the road. Both screens show lightly swirling snow, but no sign of Gant or Wallow.

"They were driving a black Cadillac," says Danny.

Stephanie takes another moment to cast her eyes over the monitors. "Well, it looks like you lost them."

"Who are they? If you don't mind me asking."

"Don't know," says Stephanie. "I don't recognise their names or their descriptions."

"Why do they want you?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that."

"Are you in trouble? Maybe you should call the cops or something. Nothing these two did was threatening _exactly_ , but... I kinda got the feeling they'd be dangerous if, you know..."

Stephanie smiles, showing her dimple. "I'll be fine, really. I can take care of myself. And I have Xena here. She'll protect me."

Danny glances at the dog, who is whimpering softly in her sleep, her hind legs kicking out as she chases some poor unfortunate rabbit though her dreams.

"Yeah," he says. "But listen, if I give you my number, would you call me if they turn up, or if you need help or you just get, I dunno, nervous out here on your own?"

"Sure," says Stephanie. "Give me your number and I'll call you if any of those things happen."

He write his number on a pad and she doesn't even glance at it.

"Thank you for coming out," she says. "I do appreciate it. If you see them again, just stick to your story that there are no Irish people living around here. They're probably on their way to the next town already, using the routine and asking the same questions."

"You're not worried that they'll find you?"

Stephanie looks at him, and he sees something in her smile. "I can take care of myself," she says.


	4. Chapter 4

Four days after Gant and Jeremiah Wallow had visited Danny's store, Etta Faulkner comes in to convince him to protest against the plans for the proposed Starbucks. He listens and nods and murmurs where appropriate, but makes sure not to commit to anything. He knows how easy it is to get sucked into someone else's struggle, and he's determined to sit this one out. When she has exhausted herself of her righteous fury, Etta collects a few essentials into a basket and brings them to the till to pay.

"Terrible thing, what happened in Giant's Pass," she says as Danny rings up her purchases.

Giant's Pass is a small town about six hours north. It's just like Meek Ridge, except it's further from civilisation. Danny has never been there. "What happened?" he asks as he packs Etta's things into a bag.

"You didn't hear?" Etta says, her eyes glittering. "Killings. Murders. Whole family is what I heard."

"Seriously?"

"Found this morning, they were. Parents and children, though the children were in their twenties, or close enough to them. It's all over the news."

"That's awful," says Danny. "They catch whoever did it?"

Etta shakes her head. "He's on the loose, that's what the reporters told me."

"You talked to the reporters?"

"Uh-huh. Down the street, not ten minutes ago. Asking me my opinion on it. I said it was shocking, that something like this could happen in such a quiet town like Giant's Pass, where everyone knows everyone else. They liked that, I think. They'll probably use that in their report. They said they'll send a camera crew to talk to me. I might be on the news. They said it was something to do with anti-Irish racism or something."

Danny closes the bag over, and freezes. "Anti-Irish?"

"First I've heard about something like that, but they seemed pretty sure."

"Why would it be anti-Irish?"

"The family that was killed were the Fitzgeralds or the Fitzgibbons or something. They seemed really sure that the family was targeted because of their nationality. Doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me, but I guess I'm not in full possession of the facts."

"What were they like, the reporters?"

"Don't know which paper they're from," says Etta, "but one was tall, about my age, and the other one was shorter, with a beard and long hair. Fat."

In that instant, Danny knows what has happened. Gant and Jeremiah aren't Fed or US Marshals or paparazzi, they are killers. They went to Giant's Pass, asked around for anyone Irish. They found the Fitzgeralds or the Fitzgibbons or whoever they were, paid them a visit, expecting to find Stephanie. When they realised their mistake, they had to silence the witnesses, or maybe they were so annoyed at getting it wrong that they killed the whole family out of spite. Either way a family is dead, and suddenly the pressure is on to find their actual target before the police find them.

Danny hurries to the backroom, grabs his coat and pulls it on as he rejoins Etta in the store. "Did they ask if there were any Irish people in Meek Ridge?"

"Yes," she says, sounding a little surprised that Danny has guessed correctly. "I said half of the families here could probably be traced back to Ireland, but there are no _Irish_ Irish, apart from that Edgley girl."

"You told them where she lives?"

"Yes. Told them how vulnerable she was, living up there all on her own."

Danny's car keys are in his hand and he's running out the door before Etta can ask what's wrong. He slips in the snow but manages to reach his car without falling. The engine starts first try.

He drives to Stephanie's place. The gate is open. He parks, carries on on foot. He feels stupid, moving lie a soldier under fire, flitting from tree to tree like he's being watched, but at the same time he feels this is an entirely fitting response to the situation.

The Cadillac is parked in the driveway besides Stephanie's pickup truck. With the angle, with the cold glare of the sun and all that snow packed on the rear window, it is impossible to see if there's anyone in it. Danny stays crouched down for another minute. No movement, no sound. The house is quiet, too.

He creeps forward, leaving deep footprints. If he suddenly has to run, there'll be nowhere he can go where they couldn't easily find him. He ignores the voice in his head telling him this is a bad idea. Of course it's a bad idea. He doesn't need a little voice to tell him that.

One more step and he's close enough to peer through the rear window. It's dark in the Cadillac, much darker than it has any right to be. He can't see anyone in the gloom, but he can't be sure, so he creeps up along the side, careful not to touch the car itself. It isn't that he's afraid an alarm might sound, alerting Gant and Jeremiah to his presence. It's just that he doesn't want to touch the car. He has the absurd notion that touching it will make him sick.

The back seat is empty. Lots of space in there. The front is empty, too. Tidy. Neat. No coffee cups or scrunched up gas receipts. It is showroom clean. That Mr Gant sure knows how to take care of his automobile.

For the first time, Danny becomes aware of the footprints in the snow leading from the Cadillac to the house. Gant's footprints are narrow and long and, judging by the depth, he's a deceptively light man. Danny follows them up round the hood, where they're joined by Jeremiah's heavy footprints clumping alongside, drag marks between each one. Both sets of footprints lead up to the porch there's freshly-shod snow all the way up to the front door.

He should kick the car. That's what he should do. Kick the car, set off the alarm, get Gant and Jeremiah running out here, away from Stephanie. By the time they got outside, Danny would already be backing away. They might be able to track him easily, but they wouldn't be able to catch him. One is fat and one is old. He'd get away. He'd probably get away. Unless Jeremiah has a gun, and he's a good shot.

Kicking the car is Plan B, Danny decides.

He moves up to the side of the house. Peers through the kitchen window. He sees Gant pouring some orange juice into a glass. He drinks. It's a tall glass and he drinks the whole thing. His Adam's apple bobs up and down unpleasantly.

Jeremiah comes into the kitchen, says something to Gant that Danny can't hear. They haven't found Stephanie, though, and that's all that matters. Gant folds his arms, taps a long finger against his chin, and before Danny can duck down, Gant's head swivels and they lock eyes.

Coldness sweeps through Danny's veins and freezes his heart.

Then Jeremiah goes one way and Gant goes the other and Danny falls away from the window, starts scrambling. He's been afraid before in his life, but not like this. Never like this. This is real fear, and real fear jolts so much energy through his system that for a moment he forgets to stand, and he just crawls on his hands and knees through the snow. He's breathing fast. Too fast Hyperventilating. It occurs to him that running would be better than crawling and he rises like a sprinter from the blocks but awkwardly, his legs shaky. The jolt of energy passes and now he's tired, he's sluggish, doesn't know what the hell is happening because all he wants to do is curl up, but of course he can't, he has to get back to his car, he has to get away.

Jeremiah Wallow walks around the corner of the house.

"It's Danny!" Jeremiah says. He holds a tyre iron in his hand. "Look, Mr Gant, it's Danny!"

Danny backs away, turns and stumbles, sees Gant walking round the far corner. Danny slips on ice and falls, gets up, throws himself into a run. He ploughs deep furrows into the snow covering the garden. Already his legs are tired, but he can't rest. He has to make it to the trees. He's faster than they are. They can't catch him. He glances back at Jeremiah, sees him plodding in slow pursuit, then glances over at Gant and Gant runs like an athlete fifty years his junior, and he slams into Danny and Danny goes spinning through the air, goes rolling through the snow towards Jeremiah.

The tyre iron crashes into his shoulder and Danny cries out, twisting on to his back, and Jeremiah swings again and it hits Danny's leg and this time Danny screams.

"Jeremiah, Jeremiah," says Gant, like he was scolding him. Jeremiah straightens up, his face a little red from the exertion. Gant stands over Danny and smiles kindly. "Hello, Danny. I'm quite impressed with you, I am forced to admit. You had us fooled. Did he not have us fooled, Jeremiah?"

Jeremiah nods. "Had me fooled."

"Hear that, Danny my boy? You had Jeremiah fooled, and Jeremiah is no fool, are you, Jeremiah?"

"No flies on me,"says Jeremiah.

Gant laughs. "Yes! Exactly! No flies on you, Jeremiah! And yet, you had us fooled, Danny my boy. That first day, we followed you right past this place, did we not? You must have seen us and, being the good guy that you are, the straight shooter, you didn't want to lead us straight to the home of our quarry, so instead you led us to the house of some old-timer we wouldn't be bothered with. That was some quick thinking, Danny. That was thinking on your feet. Aren't you impressed, Jeremiah?"

"I'm impressed," says Jeremiah.

"But only grudgingly," Gant says with a chuckle. When the chuckle dies, Gant says, "Yet actions have consequences. They have repercussions. It is a sad fact of life. Jeremiah, I want you to take Danny into the house and tie him up. Then I want you to take the car to the old-timer's place, and I want you to beat him to death with the iron bar in your hands."

"No," says Danny, still hissing in pain. "He didn't have anything to do with it!"

"Sometimes the repercussions of our actions are not felt by us directly. Sometimes they're inflicted upon the innocent and the ignorant. Bystanders, if you will."

Danny tries to fight, tries to struggle, but Jeremiah Wallow is surprisingly strong for someone so flabby. He handcuffs Danny, and drags him into the house. When Danny tries to shove him back, he kicks Danny's injured leg and Danny screams and falls back on Stephanie's sofa. Jeremiah gets two pieces of rope. One piece he ties round Danny's neck, wraps the other end around a door handle behind him. That one keeps him upright. The other piece he ties round Danny's ankles, then loops it round the chain of the handcuffs. That one keeps him sitting. Then he goes away to beat Eddie Sullivan to death, and leaves Danny in here with Gant.

Gant stands by the bookcase, fingernail scraping lightly from book to book, spine to spine. He slides an old paperback from the shelf, a book by an Irish horror writer Danny had once liked. Same last name as Stephanie. A small part of him wonders if they're related. There couldn't be too many Edgleys in Ireland. There couldn't be too many Edgleys _anywhere_.

"How much do you know?" Gant asks, flicking through the pages.

Danny's shoulder is most likely broken. That's how it feels anyway. Every time he moves, he has to bite back a shriek. The rope around his neck is tight, but not tight enough to choke him, and it's rough around his skin. The handcuffs are decorated with ornate symbols that Danny doesn't understand, and even if he could get his feet free, he doubts his injured leg would carry his weight for more than a few steps. All this e thinks about while Gant waits for an answer, and then one more thought comes into his head. If he somehow manages to rid himself of the ropes and cuffs, if he somehow manages to stand and put up a fight, he has Gant himself to deal with, and the old guy is tougher than he looks.

"I don't know where she is," Danny says.

Gant puts the book back on the shelf and turns to him. "Her boots are just inside the door," he says. "I dare say she would not have left this house in simple shoes - not if she were merely going for a walk. Tell me, Danny, what kind of dog does she have? I saw a bowl, and some dog food. Is it a big one? It is, isn't it?"

"Big enough to rip your throat out," Danny says.

Gant laughs. "Quite! Yes, indeed! Big enough to rip my throat out! Provided I don't kill it first. She didn't take the dog for a walk. She didn't even lock the house. Granted, she lives apart from the populace, undoubtedly assumes that those gates of hers would keep out any undesirables... but with the amount of security in place, it leads me to believe that she always locks up after herself, no matter what. Better to be safe than sorry? that's her motto. But if she did leave quickly, then where are the tracks? Where are the footprints in the snow? Did you call her, Danny my boy? Did you warn her?"

"I don't have her number."

"I find that difficult to believe."

"She has my number. I don't have hers."

"Ohh... and what does that tell you? That she doesn't like you, or merely that she doesn't trust you?"

"It tells me that she values her privacy."

Gant smiles "Indeed it does. But when I asked the question _how much do you know?_ I was not asking whether or not you knew where Stephanie Edgley had got to. I was simply asking how much do you know?"

"About what?"

"About the world, and the world beneath it. The world alongside it. The people in the shadows, in the darkness. Magic, Danny. I'm talking about magic." Danny waits for him to break out into another one of his chuckles, but Gant stays distressingly straight-faced. Oh, hell. Danny isn't just at the mercy of a killer - he's at the mercy of a madman.

Gant raises an eyebrow. "Judging by your silence, you don't have the first clue as to what I may be talking about. Very well. Try not to let it concern you overly. Forget I ever said anything. Pretend we're just two people in a house, making conversation and passing the time."

"What are you going to do with me?" asks Danny.

"Probably kill you."

The admission hits Danny harder than any iron bar. His throat tightens. His stomach lurches. "Why?"

"Because you've been an obstruction," says Gant. "You've been an annoyance. And you've seen my face, Danny my boy. You can identify me, describe me to the authorities and make my life very awkward."

"I don't even know your full name."

"Cadaverous," the old man says. "Cadaverous Gant. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"I won't tell anyone," says Danny.

"We both know you're lying. You shouldn't lie, Danny. Lying is bad."

"So why.. why am I here? Why aren't I dead yet?"

"You may prove useful. I have heard many things about the person you know as Stephanie Edgley - many contradictory things. Some say she is noble; others say she is evil incarnate. If she is noble, I can use you to lure her into the open. If she's evil incarnate...well, a drastic rethink would be in order. I am, of course, hoping that she'll be noble. Noble people are easier to predict, easier to provoke, and easier to kill."

"What has she ever done to you?"

"To me?" asks Gant. "Nothing."

"Then why do you want to kill her?"

"Because of what she is, and what I am."

"And what are you?"

Cadaverous Gant just smiles.


	5. Chapter 5

There is a soft click, and the wall across the room opens up, and Stephanie peeks out.

A door. A hidden door. A panic room. She's had a panic room installed.

Xena pokes her head out, sniffs the air and growls, and Stephanie hurries forward, her fingers to her lips. Xena pads after her, tail wagging with suppressed ferocity, hackled raised. Stephanie crouches at Danny's feet, fingers digging into the knotted rope. As she works, Danny can hear Gant and Jeremiah talking. Gant is telling Jeremiah to wash the blood off the tire iron.

Stephanie hisses a curse. She can't get the knot untied. Instead, she rises, pulls at the rope around Danny's throat. It loosens instantly, and Stephanie hauls him to his feet., spins him in place. He falls backwards into her arms, and she starts pulling him towards the panic room, his heels dragging along the floorboards. They are halfway there when they hear footsteps coming back.

Danny glances over his shoulder at the room. Too far. They'll never make it. Before he can whisper at Stephanie to drop him, she drops him. He falls heavily, jarring his injured arm, hears Stephanie whisper an order to Xena. The dog runs into the panic room, spins and waits for Stephanie to join her. Instead, Stephanie ducks behind the sofa, aims a fob at the panic room and the hidden door swings closed just as Cadaverous Gant walks in.

Danny stops squirming. Gant looks down at him frowning slightly.

"Danny my boy," says Gant, "how am I ever supposed to trust you if, the moment I leave the room, you try to effect an escape, however ill-judged and badly executed it may be? What does that say about you, Danny? Does that say you cannot be trusted? I fear it might." Gant picked him up off the floor with easy strength. "Now please, return to your seat."

There is nothing Danny can say or do, and so he hops back to the sofa on his good leg, and sits. He has no way of telling if Stephanie is still behind it.

Jeremiah enters, laying the tyre iron on a side table, and finishes drying his hands on a dishcloth. "Do you think she knows we're here yet?"

Gant goes to the widow, looks out. "She knows. She's watching us right now. I can feel it."

"Then we should string Danny up outside," Jeremiah says. "Cut him a little. Let him bleed out. She'll have to come save him, won't she?"

"Will she?" Gant says. "What do we know of this girl, Jeremiah my old friend? The bare minimum, that's what. We have been unable to undertake our usual copious amounts of research and, as a result, we are at a distinct disadvantage. She might be walking away this very moment, leaving the poor unfortunate Danny in the hands of two highly irritable killers."

"Should we go?" Jeremiah asks. "How about we kill Danny and leave him here for her to find? She'll think we've given up, killed him in frustration, and she'll come back and we'll grab her and kill her."

"A sound plan," Gant says, nodding, "and in normal circumstances, it might stand a chance of working. But something tells me Stephanie Edgley is not a girl to be taken in so easily. What were we told about her?"

"She's resourceful," Jeremiah says, almost grudgingly. "She is not to be underestimated."

"Indeed," says Gant. "We've done very well so far, Jeremiah. She was impossible to find yet we found her. We are standing in her house. We have forced her to hide. These are things we should be proud of. But we cannot afford to be overconfident. Overconfidence is a killer. If she knows we are here, she may very well be gone already. If she intends to save Danny, however, she is unlikely to be caught out by any of our usual ruses."

"So what do we do?" Jeremiah asks.

Gant is silent for a moment. "We currently stand in enemy territory, Jeremiah. This is her house and, as we both know, one's house is one's domain. She knows it well. We don't know it at all. There may be two of us, but here _she_ has the advantage. We need to take that away from her. Put Danny in the car."

"Where are we going?"

Gant turns to him. "Home, Jeremiah. If she wants to save him, she'll have to follow us."

"And if she doesn't?"

"We kill him, and start looking for her all over again. Put Danny in the car, there's a good lad."

Gant walks out, and Jeremiah kneels down to untie Danny's feet. When he's done, he attaches the piece of rope to Danny's bound wrists and uses it to pull him off the sofa. Then he walks out, tugging Danny along behind him.

Danny glances back and sees Stephanie, still crouched behind the sofa. Her face is tight, tense but expressionless. He catches her eye, but she doesn't move as Jeremiah yanks on the rope, tugging him from the room. Danny stumbles on his injured leg and Jeremiah walks on, not giving a damn if Danny falls and has to be dragged out. He manages to stay on his feet, however, and a moment later he's limping out into cold air and snow.

Jeremiah goes to the back of the Cadillac, opens the trunk. Danny gets his good leg under him and charges, aiming to ram him with his shoulder and hobble on, but Jeremiah steps out of the way and Danny slips and falls, coughs out a gurgle as the taut rope cuts off his air.

"Don't misbehave," says Jeremiah, looping the rope round his hand. "You really don't have much of a chance of emerging from this alive, not if I'm being honest, but you'll live longer if you're good. Now hop in."

Jeremiah pulls on the rope and Danny is jerked to his feet. Standing, the pressure to his windpipe is lessened. He looks into the trunk.

"I don't have to get in there," he says. "I'll behave. I'll be good."

"In," says Jeremiah.

"I'll freeze."

"It's more comfortable than it looks. In."

"Jeremiah, please, you can let me go. I won't tell anyone, I swear."

"Me and Mr Gant are driving away," says Jeremiah. "You can either climb in the trunk right now without anymore complaints, or I'll tie this rope to the tow bar and we'll drag you behind us the whole way home. It's a long way, Danny. You're gonna be a red smear on the road before we get fifty miles. Up to you."

Danny climbs in.


	6. Chapter 6

Amazingly, Danny falls asleep.

It isn't easy. The Cadillac's trunk is smaller than it looks, and it's cold and uncomfortable and every bump in the road jars his injured shoulder. But after an hour or so he closes his eyes, and only opens them again when the car slows to a crawl. He checks his watch in the glow of the tail lights. He's been asleep for nearly two hours.

The car stops, and he can hear muffled voices, and then the car doors opening and closing. He stays very quiet, tracking one set of footsteps as they lumber away, and another as they get closer. There's a loud rattle, and for a moment he doesn't know what it is, then metal bangs lightly against metal and he knows even before the gurgle and splash sounds that they're at the pumps of a gas station.

There's a knock on the lid of the trunk.

"You doing OK in there, Danny my boy?"

Danny frowns. He sincerely doesn't know how to answer that.

"Danny?" Gant says again. "You OK?"

"I'm fine," Danny calls. He realises how loud his voice sounds. It takes a moment for the most obvious plan in the world to occur to him, and he starts shouting. "Help! Somebody help me! I'm trapped in here! Call 911!"

He hears Gant chuckle. "That's the spirit. How are the legs? Pretty cramped, I would imagine. And the bladder? I don't know about you, Danny, but long journeys tend to put a squeeze on things, if you know what I mean. If you want to use the rest room, just let me know."

"I want to," Danny says at once.

"You sure? You wouldn't be saying that in a bold attempt to be let out of the trunk and make your escape, now would you?"

"I need to go," says Danny. This isn't a lie. He's suddenly become aware of the pressure that has built up.

The gurgling stops, and the trunk clicks and lifts. It's night, and the gas station's lights fill Danny's eyes and he gropes blindly about as he sits up. He feels Gant's long, strong fingers at the ropes that bind him, then they loosen and fall away. Gant helps him clamber awkwardly out of the trunk. Once out, he stays bent over, rubbing his legs to get some feeling back into them. Gant goes back to filling the car.

The road is unlit but the gas station is of a more than modest size. There's another car at the pumps, a station wagon,and two more in the parking slots. That means people. That means a way out. Danny straightens up. "Go use the restroom and then come back," Gant says. "No dilly-dallying."

Danny nods, and limps stiffly across the forecourt. His left shoulder isn't as badly injured as he feared. It hurts like hell and he can barely move it, but the pain has lessened considerably. His leg, though, has improved a lot. He keeps his limp, keeps up the act, but by the tie he enters the gas station, he's fairly confident he could break into a run if he has to. First place he looks is the counter. Jeremiah Wallow stands there, stuffing a Twinkie into his mouth as he waits for the attendant to come out of the backroom. Jeremiah catches Danny's eye, puts a finger to his cream-covered lips.

Danny goes to the men's room. There are two urinals and one stall, and the stall is empty. The window is too high and too small to squeeze through. Danny relieves himself, then goes back to the door, peeks out, and steps out into the ladies' room across the way. It too is empty. Where the hell is everybody?

He goes to the door. How long will Jeremiah wait until he comes looking? Will he come alone, or will he call for Gant? He'll probably come alone. He'll wander down, thump his fist against the door of the men's room, tell Danny to hurry up, and then Danny can spring at him, knock him out with... what, exactly? Danny doesn't have a weapon. He's seen a heap of old TV shows where people were knocked out by a swift chop to the back of the head, but he doubts he'll be able to do that. What then? Will he charge, tackle Jeremiah, bring him to the ground? But what if Jeremiah gets on top? He outweighs Danny by maybe eighty pounds, and Danny has never been much of a wrestler.

No. The more he thinks about it, the less and less it seems like a good idea to choose this place as a battleground. Taking a breath, Danny limps out of the restroom as calmly as he is able.

"You took your time," Jeremiah says from the counter.

"I'm hungry," says Danny.

Jeremiah shrugs. "Grab yourself something to eat, then. But I'm not paying for it."

Danny scans the shelves of quarts of oil and wiper fluid. Nothing sharp, nothing heavy, nothing that can be used as a weapon. He follows the aisle to the sandwiches, and picks two, carries them to the counter.

Jeremiah is licking cream from his moustache. "How's that trunk working out for you?" he asks, grinning.

"It's cold," Danny says. "Where are we going?"

"Mr Gant's house."

"Is it far?"

"Far enough."

"How long will I have to stay in that trunk?"

Jeremiah shrugs. "We might be there by morning. We might not. From here on out we travel by back roads. Things are gonna get a sight bumpier for you."

Danny puts the sandwiches on the counter beside the till. "Jeremiah, can I ask you a question? Who are you? Why are you doing this? Why are you so interested in Stephanie?"

"That was three questions," Jeremiah says. "Four, if you count the asking of the first question as a question. I'll answer one of them. Which one you want answered most?"

Danny hesitates. "Why are you so interested in Stephanie?"

"Because she is special. She's not like you regular people. She's special like I'm special, and Mr Gant is special. Special people are littered through this world and some of them are nice and some of them are nasty. Mr Gant and I, we are unashamedly nasty, and it's our job to find the nice special people, like Stephanie, and pluck them from this earth like you'd pluck a flower from a garden."

"What makes you special?"

Jeremiah's tongue finds that last dollop of sugared cream on his whiskers, and he sucks it between his soft pink lips. "Everything," he says.

Danny looks at him, and the stillness of their surroundings suddenly veer from strange to unnatural. "Where is everyone?"

Jeremiah looks back at him innocently. "Everyone?"

"The people who work here," says Danny. "The people who own those cars outside."

Jeremiah's head twitches towards the backroom. "They're all in there," he says. Says it like it's nothing. Says it like it isn't even something worth saying.

Moving slowly, Danny steps round Jeremiah, and limps behind the counter. Jeremiah doesn't try to stop him. His mouth dry, Danny puts one foot into the backroom, glimpses the bodies stacked in the corner, and immediately steps back.

"She's following us," Jeremiah says, eating one of the sandwiches Danny has left on the counter. "Mr Gant has seen that pickup of hers, way back in the distance. Mr Gant talks about fishing sometimes. He says this is like reeling in a fish once it's hooked. You bring it closer and closer until it's out of the water and flapping around on the deck of your boat. Course, in this case she doesn't even know she's got a great big hook in her mouth. That just makes it funnier."

There's a loud honk from outside. Gant getting impatient. Jeremiah takes his gun from his pocket, points it at Danny's belly. "Time to go. Want to take your other sandwich?"

"I'm not hungry any more," Danny says, his voice quiet. Jeremiah gives another little shrug. "Suit yourself. Back in the trunk for you."


	7. Chapter 7

The Cadillac slows, the high whine of asphalt replaced by the crunch of roadside gravel, and then there's nothing. Apart from some residual ticking, even the engine is silent. Danny stops his teeth from chattering long enough to hear a few muffled words of conversation from up front. He doesn't get all of it - he's too cold and he has a pounding headache and he's nauseous and he desperately needs to pee again - but he catches the gist of what they're saying. They're afraid they've lost Stephanie - or rather, they're afraid Stephanie has lost them.

Jeremiah suggests they loop around, to see if they can pick her up again, but Gant is against the idea. He doesn't want to make it obvious that they're luring her in. They talk about this for a few minutes, with Jeremiah coming up with suggestions like an eager employee trying to impress his boss. Gant, for his part, grows increasingly irate, and Jeremiah eventually gets the message and stops suggesting stupid things.

There's movement, and then a door opens - only one - and someone gets out. Gant. His footsteps move along the side of the car, and stop somewhere close to Danny's head.

"I need to pee," Danny calls.

There's a sharp bang of a fist on the trunk. "Shut up," says Gant, and a moment later Danny hears an approaching car. He catches a brief sweep of headlights through the cracks of the trunk, and then the car slows. It isn't Stephanie. Stephanie wouldn't pull up to where Gant was standing. He hears a voice, a man's voice, saying something, possibly offering to help in some way, and then he jumps as three gunshots ring out.

Gant's movements are unhurried as he gets back in the Cadillac. The engine fires up and they pull out on to the road and continue on.

Danny doesn't need to hear the conversation to know that that was a sign for Stephanie to follow.

A half-hour later, he can't hold it any longer. He unzips and pees into the carpet under the latch, the sense of relief momentarily overwhelming the bizarre sense of shame that threatens to engulf him. When he's finished, he zips up and shuffles back as far as he can, his jacket held up over his nose and mouth. He tests the air every ew minutes until he can't smell anything rank, and begins to breathe normally again.

They haven't bothered tying him up after the gas station. They know he's beaten. He knows he's beaten. The acceptance is sudden and unexpected, but no less valid than the thought that follows after. He's beaten _now_ , at this particular moment in time. But once they let him out of this trunk? Once he's got his strength back? Then he has a chance again.

The Cadillac slows again and he wakes. It's morning now. A thin line of warm sunlight falls across his face. He hears Gant say, "Excuse me," very clearly, like he's leaning out of an open window. Running footsteps approach. A woman's voice. An early morning jogger.

A thought surfaces in the murk of Danny's mind. The man in the car. The gunshots. A trail of carnage for Stephanie to follow.

"Run!" Danny screams. "Run! He's going to kill you!"

He hears the woman's voice. Not the words, but the tone - confused, suddenly wary - and Gant, trying to be soothing, trying to coax her closer. Then there's a scrape of rubber soles on the road, and the woman is running and Gant is cursing. Car doors open. A gun fires twice. More cursing.

"Go!" Gant shouts, and Danny hears Jeremiah take off in pursuit.

Gant gets back in the car and they leap forward, tyres spinning. The Cadillac swerves violently and Danny hits his head and jars his shoulder. The world rattles and bumps around him. They're off the road now, on some kind of dirt tack. Branches scrape against metal. Water splashes. Another turn, and another, an for a moment they're going sideways and Danny is sure they're going to crash, but somehow Gant gets the big car back under control and they straighten out, picking up even more speed.

They take a long, wide turn, then brake, coming to a skidding, sliding stop, and the engine cuts out and the door opens and Danny hears the woman grunt. Something thuds heavily on to a crackling surface. Twigs. The ground is covered in twigs and old leaves and Gant and the woman are rolling around on it. The woman struggles fiercely. Gant curses. There's a burst of snapping branches and trampled undergrowth and another thud, and Jeremiah's heavy panting is added to the mix.

"Let go of me!" the woman shouts. "Let go! Let-"

There's a gunshot.

Danny lies in the darkness, listening to Jeremiah getting his breath back while Gant mutters to himself. After a minute, Jeremiah gets to his feet with great effort. He sighs a few more times, grunts, and Danny hears something being dragged, getting closer. It moves round the car to the trunk. A rattle of keys.

The trunk opens and Danny shields his eyes. He hears Jeremiah's cry of disgust as the smell hits him, and then Gant is saying something and Danny finally looks up.

"No!" says Danny, but Jeremiah drops the woman's body on top of him and slams the trunk shut.

Danny screams, shrinking back from the tangle of limbs and long hair, trying to push the body away, but his hands are suddenly wet with something warm and sticky. There's a new smell in the trunk now, the coppery smell of blood.

"That's what you get," says Gant from outside. "That's what you get."

Danny wants to scream and scream, but he locks it down, he keeps the screams clamped inside his chest, and he breathes fast and shallow. He can smell the woman's coconut shampoo.

Car doors close, and the engine starts, and the Cadillac reverses into a three-pointed turn and heads back the way it's come at a gentle pace.

When they get to the road, they stop, and Jeremiah comes round and opens the trunk again. His face is red from exertion. Dribbles of sweat run from his forehead. Glaring at Danny, he takes hold of the woman's torso and hauls her out. He lets the body fall at his feet, and looks in at Danny, his nose wrinkled in disgust.

Then he closes the trunk.


	8. Chapter 8

The radio has been on for the last hour. Eighties pop. Gant has probably had enough of listening to Jeremiah. Now 'Don't You Want Me' by the Human League plays. Danny listens to it in the darkness over the Cadillac's engine. His mom loved eighties pop. The Human League, Duran Duran, Erasure. His dad preferred seventies rock. Led Zeppelin, Rush, Sabbath. They both had an appreciation for music, though, which is probably where Danny gets it from.

The Cadillac stops. The engine cuts off, taking the music with it. Car doors open. Danny waits. There's some muffled talking, then footsteps. A rattle and a click and the trunk opens. Danny curls up tighter, like a flower shrinking from sudden cold, hands over his eyes to shield from the light. Metal tightens over his wrists. Handcuffs.

"Out," says Jeremiah.

Blinking madly, Danny moves his aching bones. He's sore and tired and cold and he reeks. His left shoulder is throbbing and his right ankle is swollen. He's thirsty and his stomach is empty. He manages to get one leg out and clambers awkwardly fro the trunk. They're on a residential street. It's the middle of the day, but it's quiet. No one around to see him. He could shout for help, but he doesn't bother. Gant would have thought of that. Jeremiah would be ready for it.

One side of the street is practically identical to the other. All big colonial houses with lots of space in between. Jeremiah marches Danny ahead of him, and they follow Gant up the steps to number 4. Gant twists a key in the lock and walks through, then Jeremiah pushes Danny so that he stumbles in after him, and Danny pitches straight into hell.

The heat is the first thing that hits him - so powerful it makes Danny close his eyes and turn his head. He tries to back out, but Jeremiah is behind him, already shutting the door. He can hear water, flowing and boiling, and behind that he can hear screams. People are screaming. He cracks his eyes open, and fright tears through him.

He's on a metal walkway, a bridge suspended by chains above a lake of liquid fire. His surroundings are impossible. The inside of this colonial house is a church so vast he can't see the top. There are bridges above him, and ceilings and walkways, but they are impossibly high, and the twisted architecture vanishes into darkness, punctuated only by small patches of distant light.

Gant is halfway across the bridge. Jeremiah gives Danny a shove. Danny reaches out for the thin railing to stop him from going over, but it burns his fingers and he hisses, clutching his hands close to his chest. He limps quickly after Gant, away from Jeremiah. The heat is oppressive. His shirt is already drenched with sweat. The screaming continues.

They get to a platform that sways under their weight. Danny walks with his knees bent, waves of dizziness roiling around his head. The heat doesn't affect Gant, but Danny can still find it within himself to be pleased that Jeremiah is finding this as uncomfortable as he is. Large patches of sweat have already soaked through the big man's jacket. His fat cheeks are red and he's puffing like it's hard to breathe. Jeremiah doesn't complain, though, and he doesn't walk like he's scared of falling.

They climb iron stairs. Danny keeps his hands to himself. He can feel the heat through his shoes. The stairs are steep, and there are a lot of them, and Danny's legs are trembling by the time they reach the top. He glances down at Jeremiah, who is finding the climb though going. Good.

There's a little hut ahead. Gant walks in. With no other route open to him, Danny follows.

This hut, at least, has a solid floor. Nothing to lurch beneath him, and no grill to allow the steam from the liquid fire to billow and scald his skin. Solid walls, too. Chains hang from the high ceiling. Gant turns to him.

"What did you give me?" Danny asks.

Gant smiles. "You think you've been drugged. You think this place is some ghastly hallucination. You think it couldn't possibly exist."

"I know it can't."

"And yet it does," says Gant, "so what does that say about the things you know? Does it, perhaps, say that there's a lot more to this world than you've seen so far in your limited little life? _There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy._ Do you know where that's from?"

" _Hamlet_ ," says Danny. "Everyone knows that line."

Gant chuckles. "Not so. There are still those to whom Shakespeare is a mystery they have no interest in solving."

Jeremiah joins them, sucking in mouthfuls of air like he's going to have a heart attack at any moment. Gant observes him with a look of distaste.

"Where are we?" Danny asks.

"My home," answers Gant. "A man's home is his castle, is it not? And a man must be master of his domain. This is my domain, Danny my boy, and I am master over it."

"But how can it exist? It's not right, It's not possible."

Gant pulls on one of the chains, one with a hook on the end. "There are many names for it," he says. "The easiest for you to understand would be, simply, magic." He attaches the hook to Danny's handcuffs, looks over to Jeremiah, who is still trying to get his breath back.

"Jeremiah," Gant says sharply.

Jeremiah nods and staggers over to a wheel on the wall. He takes a handkerchief from his pocket, wipes it uselessly across his forehead, then wraps it round his hand. He takes hold of the wheel, and, with every turn, the chain draws towards the ceiling, dragging Danny's arms up over his head. Jeremiah puffs and grunts and Gant waits, but finally Danny's feet leave the floor and he dangles there, the handcuffs cutting into his skin. Jeremiah locks off the wheel and comes to stand beside his master.

"Are you the devil?" Danny asks.

Gant laughs. "No, my boy, no I an not. Though you wouldn't be the first to make that mistake."

"And you think Stephanie's just going to come rushing in here to save me? She barely knows me."

"She's coming," Gant says, and gives another smile. "And when she gets here we'll be ready for her, won't we, Jeremiah?"

"Oh, yes," says Jeremiah. "We'll be ready, all right."

"Then we'll see," Gant continues. "We'll see who she is and what she is. Is she noble, like we've heard? Or is she evil incarnate, like others have said? Which do you think, Danny my boy? Which one do you think is coming to your rescue right at this moment? The angel... or the demon?"


	9. Chapter 9

"Danny. _Danny._ "

Danny opens his eyes. Someone is behind him, holding him, their arms round his legs, taking his weight.

"Stephanie?" he mumbles.

"May as well call me Valkyrie," she says. "Can you lift your hands off the hook?"

Danny makes the mistake of looking up. A river of stinging sweat flows into his eyes, blinding him. He grits his teeth, tries freeing himself.

"Can't move my arms," he says.

She releases him, and his full body weight hangs from his wrists again. He swings a little, enough to see her hurrying to the wheel on the wall when he cracks one eye open. Stephanie, or Valkyrie, dressed in black, sweating in the heat, but not looking overly concerned about it.

"They're waiting for you," he says. Christ, he's thirsty. His words feel thick and slow. "This is a trap."

"Yep," she says, "bears all the hallmarks of one." She abandons the wheel, comes back over. "What a place, eh? Bigger on the inside. Like the TARDIS. Look away." She raises he hand. "This is going to be bright."

He closes his eyes but not all the way, and sees white lightning crackle from her fingertips. The lightning hits the chain and suddenly he's swinging wildly. He looks up. The chain is scorched. He can see a clear fracture in one of the links.

"Sorry," Valkyrie says, reaching out to steady him. "Haven't done this in a while. Another blast should-"

A large shape bursts from the door and Danny shouts a warning, but he's too late. Jeremiah swings a sledgehammer into Valkyrie's ribs. The impact lifts her sideways.

"Mr Gant!" Jeremiah screeches. "She's here! She's here!"

Valkyrie tries to get up. She's wheezing. Jeremiah doesn't give her the chance. The hammer comes down, right between her shoulder blades. Valkyrie flattens out.

"Mr Gant! I have her! I have her, Mr Gant!"

He goes quiet all of a sudden, and assumes the look of a man to whom an idea has just occurred. He leans the sledgehammer against the wall, takes hold of the collar of Valkyrie's jacket and drags her from the room. Amazingly, Valkyrie is still half conscious, but she's in no fit state to fight back. The last Danny sees of her is her boots.

He starts swinging wildly, kicking out and twisting. The broken link bends a little. He torques, grunting with effort.

He stops when he hears footsteps. Moments later, Gant walks in with a smile on his face, a smile that dims when he realises Danny is the only person here.

"Where are they?" he asks.

Danny swings from side to side, but doesn't answer. Gant fixes him with a stare. "She's here. Your usefulness is at an end. Allow yourself a few minutes more of life and tell me where they went."

"Jeremiah took her," says Danny. "Through there."

A troubling frown crosses Gant's face, and he strides from the hut.

Danny kicks his legs up in front, then swoops them behind. He starts swinging forwards and back. With every swing, he kicks higher. The chain creaks. Kick in front, swoop behind. Kick and swoop. Higher and higher. He looks up as he swings. The broken link widens its jaws.

Kick and swoop. His shoulder is on fire. Kick and swoop. Kick and-

The world tilts, suddenly and without warning. The broken link gives way and he's crashing to the floor. He rolls over, gets to his knees, but he can't wait for his burning muscles to soothe. Up he gets, feeling returning to his arms. His hands are still cuffed, but his fingers are tingling. He flexes them until he's sure he can grip, and then he picks up the sledgehammer.

He leaves the hut, limping only slightly, and steps on to a bridge suspended by chains. It sways under his weight, almost tips him into the sea of fire. He crosses, doing his best not to look down. He can still hear the screaming.

Danny gets up to the platform ahead and takes the metal steps down. He pauses to wipe the sweat from his eyes, then continues on to where the steps flatten and meet a grille floor. More stairways and bridges lead off it. He leans over the railing, glimpses Gant on the level below him. It takes him a moment to figure out the best way down, but when he has it, he hurries after him.

Hefting the hammer, he approaches a hut suspended entirely by chains. He can hear voices inside.

"The audacity," Gant is saying. "The sheer _audacity_ of you. I'd almost be impressed if I wasn't so disappointed."

Danny peers in. It's a small room, with a heavy, bloodstained work table against the far wall. Valkyrie is on the ground, not moving. Gant is standing over her, his hands on his hips. Jeremiah stands with his back to the door, his shoulders slumped.

"No," Jeremiah is saying, "I was just getting her ready for you, I was just-"

"I'll tell you what you were _just_ doing," Gant snaps. "You were going to kill her. You were going to kill her and claim the credit all for yourself."

"Mr Gant, no, I would never do-"

"And yet here you are, Jeremiah. Here you are in your fetid little cubbyhole with your grubby hands round her throat. Do you think this is how she would want to die? Do you think this is how anyone would want to die?"

"No," says Jeremiah meekly.

"I thought you were better than this. I thought you respected me more."

"I'm - I'm sorry, Mr Gant. I was weak. I saw her, I put her down, I was going to give her to you, I was. But... but Mr Gant, I haven't killed anyone like this in a long time."

"I let you kill ordinary people. Isn't that enough for you?"

There's a pause as Jeremiah hesitates. Danny wipes his hands on his trousers, and takes a grip on the sledgehammer. It isn't as wide as he'd like, because of the cuffs, but it's a firm grip nonetheless.

"What?" Gant says, irritated. "Out with it, for heaven's sake."

"You said you'd let me kill the next one," Jeremiah says quietly.

"You're not ready, Jeremiah."

"You always say that." He's almost whining now. "When will I be ready?"

Gant adopts the tone of a disappointed parent. "I don't know. Up until a few minutes ago, I would have said soon. Very, very soon. Maybe even today. I was so close to letting you do this one. But after this... after this, Jeremiah, I just don't know any more."

"Mr Gant," says Jeremiah, and he's crying. "Mr Gant, I'm sorry."

Danny takes another peek.

Gant is looking down at Valkyrie. "I need to know I can trust you, Jeremiah."

"You can," says Jeremiah. "I promise you can."

"I don't know. I don't think so."

Gant turns away a little more and Danny sees his chance. He runs in, swinging. Jeremiah hears him and ducks under the sledgehammer, but all that does is clear a path right to Gant's face.

And it's like he's swung the hammer into a metal pillar.

The shock of the impact wrenches the sledgehammer from Danny's hands and he cries out and staggers back. The hammer clatters to the floor and Gant shoots Danny a smile.

Jeremiah roars, charges, takes Danny off his feet. They go down, the big man's weight on him. Danny barely has any fight left. Jeremiah brings out a knife from somewhere. Danny grabs Jeremiah's wrists with both hands, but not fats enough to stop his arm from being nicked. They struggle with the blade. Gant doesn't say anything. Doesn't even move.

They roll across the floor, Danny finding reserves of strength he never knew he had. Gant doesn't follow the fight. He's just standing there, smiling and not moving.

No, wait, he is moving. But very, very slowly.

As he struggles with Jeremiah, Danny remembers the people in the gas station - the dead bodies stacked up in the backroom. How had Jeremiah found the time to do all that, unless...

Gant said this house was magic. Danny doesn't know about magic, but this place definitely defies reason. Valkyrie shot that weird light from her hands and Gant himself hadn't even blinked just now when the sledgehammer hit him. OK, so if the house really is magic and Gant and Valkyrie are magic, then maybe Jeremiah is, too. And by the looks of things his magic is the ability to draw out his kills while the world slows down around him. The perfect power for a serial killer.

Danny refocuses on the knife. Jeremiah's strength is leaving him with every breath he puffs out. He's relying on his weight now to keep the knife in position - saving the last of his energy for one final push. Sweat rolls off Jeremiah's forehead and drops on to Danny's face, on to his gritted teeth. Danny heaves, and they roll, and for a moment Danny is on top, but then Jeremiah flips them over again. Danny's head knocks against Valkyrie's leg. The tip of the knife scrapes his chest.

Danny lets the blade dig in. Sensing that his moment has arrived, Jeremiah grunts and snarls and drives downwards, but Danny surprises him by holding on, and they strain and struggle and strain again, and Jeremiah is the first to weaken.

Danny shoves him off, rolls on top, and Jeremiah gasps and cries, like he doesn't want to play any more. Danny knocks the knife from his hand and, just like that, normal time resumes around them.

Gant turns, his smile quickly becoming a scowl as Danny finds himself being lifted off the floor. Valkyrie has him.

"Run," she says.

He runs. She's right behind him. They run across the swaying bridge of chains and mesh. Twice Danny's foot slips through, dangles above the fire, and twice Valkyrie has to haul him up again. They reach a spiral staircase on the other side, and head up.

"I cant," Danny gasps.

"You have to," Valkyrie says.

He trips and falls and he bangs his knees and scalds his hands on the hot metal, but he keeps going. He doesn't know how, but he keeps going. By the time they reach the top, his legs are jelly. Valkyrie wraps her arm around his waist, and she practically carries him onwards. Some distant part of his mind takes a moment to appreciate her strength.

"I'm all turned around," she says. "Any idea how we get out of here?"

He looks around, then points at a distant platform. "There I think."

She scans the area, finding the quickest path through all the walkways and bridges. "Got it," she says, and they're off again.

Danny lets himself be led. He's too tired to do anything but follow blindly. Valkyrie is the expert here. She's the warrior. He's just some guy.

They cross another chain bridge, almost get to the platform when Gant clambers up a ladder on the other side.

Valkyrie holds out her hand. She grits her teeth, focusing, and lightning bursts forth. It hits Gant square in the chest, burns right through his shirt, but he never sops smiling.

"I'm afraid you can't beat me," he calls to them as he nears. "But if you surrender now I promise to make your death relatively painless."

"Back," Valkyrie whispers.

Danny retraces his steps, the chain bridge swaying. He gets to the last platform and looks back. Valkyrie's hands are glowing white, but instead of firing that lightning at Gant, she grips the chains on the bridge. There's a snap as they break, and lurch, and the bridge sags, and Valkyrie turns and leaps as it collapses. Danny catches her.

They look back at the other platform, at Gant who snakes his head in an amused fashion. Calmly, he takes another set of stairs.

"This used to be easy," Valkyrie mutters. "You shoot someone, they go down. Mostly. This guy... this guy can't be hurt."

"No," says Danny, "he can. I think. I heard it. They were going after this woman, there was a fight, I heard Gant, you know, in pain. Not much pain but... definitely hurt."

Valkyrie wipes her sleeve across her forehead. Her jacket looks crisp and dry - so unlike Danny's own sweat-soaked shirt. "Well, he's not feeling any pain in here."

"He says he's master of his domain."

Valkyrie looks at him. "Maybe that's it. In this house, we can't beat him."

"So what do we do?"

"We take it outside."

She has another look at the criss-crossing walkways and chooses a new route. Danny runs by himself to the next set of stairs, but she has to help him climb them. When they reach the top, they find themselves on the same level as the door out of here.

Valkyrie leads the way across a chain bridge. Danny comes after her - slow but steady, gripping the chains and making sure is feet don't slip off the edge. This is the longest of the chain bridges, and it sways dramatically as they transverse it.

"Huh," Valkyrie says. She has stopped walking, and she's scanning the area. "Can't see him."

Danny stops behind her, grateful for the chance to catch his breath.

"Can you see him?" Valkyrie asks.

Danny grunts, shakes his head, not really bothering to look. All they have to do is get to the platform on the other side, pass through the hut he'd been chained up in, and take the walkway to the door. They are almost there. Almost out.

Valkyrie curses and pushes him and Danny cries out and falls, almost slipping from the bridge as a dark shape swoops overhead, cackling with glee.

Cadaverous Gant, swinging from a chain like Tarzan, and coming back this way.

Valkyrie grans Danny's hands, pulls him up. Gant passes again, his long fingers barely missing Danny's shirt. The swing takes him up high and he leas like a circus acrobat, snagging another chain, and swings in at a different angle. This time when he passes he kicks at the railings and the bridge lurches and Valkyrie nearly falls. Danny lunges, his hands grabbing her jacket, steadying her. She fills the air with imaginative swear words, and Danny releases her. Then something snags his shirt collar and he's plucked off his feet.

Valkyrie spins, grabbing the chain of his handcuffs. The sudden stop is jarring, and above him, Gant grunts in surprise.

Danny hangs in the air between them. Below him is nothing but fire.

"I can hold on forever, young lady." Gant calls down, laughing. "Can you?"

Valkyrie's free hand glows. Lightning surges and bursts forth, rattling the chain Gant hangs from. He lets go and Danny drops. Valkyrie braces herself and Danny comes to a jarring stop once again, the pain in his shoulder sending bright flashes through his eyes. He hangs there, not even daring to scream. He sees Gant out of the corner of his eye, swinging gently above them.

Danny doesn't know how Valkyrie is holding him, but she is. And, incredibly, she starts to pull him up.

As they sweat and strain, Gant watches. When it becomes clear that Danny's going to be able to clamber back on to the bridge, he sighs, looks around, and starts climbing the chain into the darkness above.

Danny gets to his feet. Every part of him is trembling.

"Come on," Valkyrie says. He nobs dumbly, and follows.

They get to the platform. Danny's legs give out. He tries to get up before Valkyrie notices, but she looks back.

"I'm fine," he says.

"We're almost there."

"I know. I'm fine." He gets up, gives her a smile to reassure her, and his eyes widen.

Valkyrie turns as Jeremiah runs at her.

He slashes at her with the knife. Once again, Danny is surprised by how fast he is, but Valkyrie doesn't try to duck or jump away. Instead, she meets him, moving right into him, wrapping her left arm round his knife arm and repeatedly slamming her right palm into his face. Jeremiah's nose splits and his lips burst and there's blood everywhere. The knife clatters to the metal floor. Valkyrie sweeps his leg and he lands heavily, mewling like a spoiled child. He reaches up, grabs her hair, yanks her down on top of him. His hands encircle her throat. They start to blur.

The act of killing, this time seen from the outside. To Danny, a blur of movement. To Valkyrie, a struggle that is going on forever.

Danny lunges forward to help, but the blurred images are no longer there. There's a screech behind him and he whirls. Valkyrie lies on the edge of the platform, clutching Jeremiah's hand as he dangles over the sea of liquid fire.

"Help me!" Jeremiah screams.

But his weight, plus all the sweat, prove too much, and he slips from Valkyrie's grip and disappears, screaming, into the flames below.

Valkyrie stays where she is for a moment, then she gets up. She wipes her hand on her trousers.

"No!"

They both look round at the scream. Cadaverous Gant stand on a higher platform, a hanging chain in his hand.

"Danny," says Valkyrie. "We have to go-"

She doesn't even get the chance to say "now". Gant leaps into a deep swing. At its apex he lets go, and for a moment Danny thinks he's going to miss the hut, but he slams into it, scrabbling for purchase before he slips. His fingers dig in. He climbs on to the hut's roof, then drops on to the walkway, and strides to the platform.

"The first chance you get," Valkyrie whispers to Danny, "you get out of here."

Danny shakes his head. "I'm not leaving you."

"Get out of here and get help," Valkyrie says, and walks towards Gant, her hand glowing.

She fires that lightning and Gant just walks through it like it's nothing. He hits her and she goes spinning.

"I'm going to rip your heart out," says Gant.


	10. Chapter 10

Gant picks her up only to slam her down again. Then he kicks her and Valkyrie goes rolling across the platform, gasping.

"I've known that boy since before either of you were born," he says, his voice a little more than a guttural snarl. "I practically raised him. He had his flaws, of course he did, but he was a good boy, and he was a good boy, and he worked hard, and all he ever wanted to do was make me happy. And you... you come to my home and you..." Gant grabs her by the collar, lifts her off her feet. "What gives you the right? What gives you the right to kill that poor boy?"

Valkyrie struggles to breathe. "How many... people has he... killed?"

"They don't count!" Gant screams. "They don't count!" He headbutts her and lets her drop, and Valkyrie staggers and stumbles away from him, blood running down her face.

"They're cattle!" he continues to scream. "They're practice! Their lives meant nothing!"

Danny sees his chance. The walkway is clear. But he hesitates, his feet stuck. Valkyrie glances at him, waves. "Go," she says, spitting blood. "Go."

"Yes, Danny," Gant says, kicking Valkyrie's legs out from under her, "go. Run. I'll hunt you down soon enough." He stomps on Valkyrie's back. She cries out.

Limping, staggering, throwing on foot in front of the other and willing his knees not to buckle, Danny crosses the walkway. He almost falls at the hut, but manages to keep himself standing. He doesn't look back. He doesn't turn at every cry of pain. He lurches into the hut, clinging to the hanging chains for support. The broken link dangles above him and he looks at it for a moment before reaching up to slip it from the chain. He pockets it, then stumbles to the doorway on the other side . He rests there for a moment. He's almost out. He just has to keep it together for another few minutes. Just one more little bridge, and then the front door, and fresh air and freedom. That's all.

He leaves the hut. One foot in front of the other. Hands on the railing. Easy does it. Don't get distracted. Don't look over at what's happening to Valkyrie. Don't look over at what Gant is doing.

One foot in front of the other.

One foot in front of the-

Danny falls against the door. He grabs the latch. It's slippery beneath his fingers. For the first time the thought occurs to him that it might be locked, that it won't open, that some kind of magic will deny him his escape, but when he finally gets a grip and turns the latch the door does indeed open, and he pulls it wide and cold air blasts his whole body.

He sobs with relief and throws himself forward, the steps taking him by surprise. He falls to the sidewalk, skinning the palms of his hands but not feeling it. He crawls on, tries calling for help, but the street is as empty now as when he first got here.

He reaches the Cadillac, fumbles for the handle, uses it to pull himself to his feet. Valkyrie's pickup is parked right behind it. He hears her yell in pain.

He looks back, into the house. He can still see the top of Gant's head, bobbing up and down as he continues to beat Valkyrie to death. Danny takes a deep, deep breath, and wipes some of the sweat from his eyes. Then he stands, and takes the broken link of chain from his pocket. It's heavy and big.

He turns to the Cadillac, and smashes the driver's window.

Next to go is the wing mirror. That smashes easily, making plenty of noise.

"Hey!" Gant yells from inside the house.

Danny ignores him, goes round to the front of the car. He swings the broken link into the left headlight.

"Hey!" Gant screams. "You leave that car alone!"

Danny moves slowly over to the other headlight, making deep dents in the hood as he goes. _Clang. Clang. Clang._

Then there's a _smash_. And no more headlights.

"Hey!"

Danny looks up. Cadaverous Gant stands in the doorway, lips pulled back from his teeth. He looks livid. He looks, with the sunlight hitting his liver spots, like a really angry corpse. Danny laughs. This only makes Gant angrier.

"First you kill Jeremiah and then you attack my car?"

Danny brings the chain link down on the hood. _Clang_.

"Stop that! Jeremiah took great pride in maintaining this car. He would wax it every day until I could see my-"

 _Clang._

"Stop!" Gant screeches. "Stop it!"

"Make me," says Danny. His throat is so dry it hurts to speak. "Come out of there. Face me like a man."

"What is this?" Gant sneers. "You think you're the hero? You think you can-"

Danny doesn't think anything of the sort. Danny just smashes the passenger side window.

Gant lets out a cry of anger and horror and jumps down the steps. Danny backs off into the middle of the street, giving himself room. Gant stalks right up to him and Danny raises his fists, thinking maybe he can use the broken link to knock out a few of Gant's yellowing teeth now that he no longer has the house to make him unstoppable. But even out here, the old man surprises him with his speed and his strength. Danny barely glimpses the punch that rocks his head back. He completely misses the one that knocks him on his ass.

Dazed, he can only look up as Gant takes Jeremiah Wallow's knife from his pocket. He closes his eyes. He doesn't want to see the end coming, and he has no strength left in him to fight.

Then suddenly he's being pulled to his feet and spun. Gant holds him from behind and digs the knife into his throat. Danny opens his eyes.

Valkyrie stands on the steps of the house. Her face is a mask of blood and she's holding her ribs with her left hand. Her right hand is outstretched, and it's glowing white.

"Your aim is off," Gant snarls, almost directly into Danny's ear. "You'll hit your friend here. Might even kill him."

"My aim's improving," Valkyrie says. "I'm just out of practice, that's all."

"Then go ahead," says Gant. "Fire. If you think yo can do it. Go on. Tell you what, I'll make it easy on you. I'll count down from three. If you haven't fired by then, I'll cut his throat. Does that sound fair?"

"I have a counter-proposal," says Valkyrie, coming down the steps. Her eyes burn. "You let him go and drop the knife. You surrender and I arrest you. You tell me why you came after me and who wants me dead. That sounds pretty fair to me."

Danny can hear Gant's smile in his voice as Valkyrie joins them on the street. "Three."

Valkyrie's hand glows brighter. "Two," she says.

The knife digs a little deeper into Danny's throat. "One," says Gant.

"OK!" Valkyrie says, the glow immediately fading from her hand. "OK, you win."

"Naturally," says Gant. "You have shackles, I take it? Put the on."

Valkyrie's face turns to stone.

Gant's laugh is not a happy one. "You think me stupid, girl? You think I'm going to leave you even the slightest chance to gain the upper hand?"

She hesitates. "The shackles are in my pickup," she says, and starts forward. She freezes when Gant presses the blade deep enough into Danny's throat to draw blood.

"Do not take one more step, you insolent little whelp."

Valkyrie narrows her eyes. "You want me to get the shackles, I'm getting the-"

"You're not doing anything," Gant says. He drags Danny back towards the pickup. "I've heard all about you," he says as they go. "I've been told about the things you've done. Up until now, I wondered which version of you we were going to get - the angel or the demon. Jeremiah and I, we were prepared for both."

Valkyrie actually smiles. "You'd never be prepared for Darquesse."

"You'd be surprised," says Gant. "I've killed all sorts of people in the course of my work."

"And what work would that be, exactly?"

"Killing people like you." They come to stop at the door of the pickup. "Angel or demon, we wondered. Now I know."

"No," says Valkyrie. "You only think you do."

Danny feels Gant's grip loosen as he reaches for the door handle. "Is that so? Well then, you tell me, young lady. Which are you? Angel or demon?"

Valkyrie smiles again. "I'm like anybody," she says. "I'm a little bit of both."

Gant opens the door and all Danny sees is a flash of brown and black as Xena leaps from the seat. Danny recoils and Gant falls, the big German shepherd snarling as she rolls off his chest. She goes for him again, jaws clamping down on his forearm. Gant screams and Xena shakes her head furiously. The old man staggers to his feet, kicks the dog in the side. Xena yelps, dances back, dives again, closing her teeth round his ankle.

Hollering, Gant swipes at her with the knife. This time Xena gives a yelp of real pain and lets go. Gant swipes again, misses, and then Valkyrie is barrelling into him. The knife falls. Valkyrie catches him with an elbow that cracks against his chin. He tries to make space between them, but she has a hold of him now and she won't let go. She digs her fingers into his face, shredding across his features. He panics, tries to push her off. She's like a limpet. There's no dislodging her. Gant's eyes are squeezed shut. His face is bleeding. Danny watches as Valkyrie's fury is let loose. It's terrifying.

They fall and Valkyrie is on top. Xena dances nearby, barking her rage and thirst for blood. Valkyrie crouches over Gant, starts slamming her right palm into his face.

He tries to push her off and she grabs his wrist, wrenches it and Gant hollers in pain.

Valkyrie leans in, and snarls. "Not so much fun when you're on the receiving end, is it?"

"Please!" Gant squeals. "I'm an old man!"

"Damn right you are," she says, and drops with an elbow to the jaw. Gant goes limp.

Valkyrie puts both hands on his face, shifting her weight to jump to her feet. Then she stands, well out of the way of his limbs.

"Xena," she says, "hush."

Immediately, Xena quiets down. But her tail doesn't stop wagging as she keeps her eyes fixed on Gant.

Valkyrie walks over to Danny and helps him stand. He hadn't even realised he'd collapsed. "You OK?"

He nods. It's a blatant lie, but Valkyrie doesn't seem to mind.

Once he's on his feet, she leaves him, walks back to the front door. She shuts it.

The dog barks and Danny looks back and Gant is halfway to the Cadillac with Xena biting into his already bloody leg. He curses in pain and throws himself through the broken window shaking Xena off as he drags his legs after him. Valkyrie's hands glow and white lightning catches Gant in the shoulder as he squirms behind the wheel. The engine roars to life and the cars lurches forward. Valkyrie fires again, burning a deep scorch mark into the Cadillac's body, but she's too late to stop it. They speed away, swerving dangerously.

Once it's out of sight, Xena stops barking.

"Dammit," Valkyrie mutters. She looks back at Danny. "You in any mood for a car chase?"

"You can have one if you want," he says. "I'll wait here."

Valkyrie shakes her head. "Naw. I reckon we've enough these last few days, what do you say?"

Her hand wraps around the chain of his handcuffs and glows white, and a moment later the chain breaks. "Get in the pickup there," she says. "I'll make a few calls and then we'll head back to Meek Ridge."

He gets in, groaning a little when Xena jumps in on top of him. She settles herself in the middle, then reaches back to lick her bloodied fur. Every so often, she licks Danny's face. He is too tired to stop her.

Valkyrie talks on the phone for a bit, then gets in behind the wheel. "Some people are on their way here," she says. "They'll seal off the place, make sure Gant doesn't get back in. Hopefully, they'll pick him up on the road. If not, you'll get round-the-clock protection until he's arrested."

Danny nods. "OK," he says.

She reaches into her jacket, takes out a slim packet of dried leaves. She folds one, offers it to the dog. Xena swallows it and Valkyrie scratches behind her ears.

"Who's a good doggy, huh? Who's a good doggy?"

Xena wags her tail in a steady, happy rhythm.

Valkyrie pops one of the leaves in her own mouth, chewing it, and holds one out for Danny. "For the pain," she says.

He takes it without asking what it is. It tastes exactly like he expects it to - like a leaf. But the feeling that floods his body takes him completely by surprise.

"Wow," he says.

Valkyrie starts up the pickup and pulls away from the kerb. "Long drive back to Meek Ridge," she says. "You want the radio on?"

He'd wanted to sleep, but now that leaf is working wonders, he's got more important things on his mind. "No," he says. "I want to know what's going on. Stephanie, Valkyrie, whatever your name is... please. Who _are_ you?"

She gives him a smile. "Well, OK. You deserve it, I suppose. I'll start at the beginning, how about that?"

"Sounds good," he says.

She fixes her eyes on the road. "It all started with the death of my uncle."

* * *

By the time Valkyrie has finished the story, told him all about Skulduggery and Tanith and Ghastly and Darquesse and the Accelerator, they have reached Meek Ridge and are driving past the grocery store.

It hasn't burned down, which is a good sign. They take the road up to Valkyrie's place. They pass Danny's car, but they don't stop until they get to the house.

They get out. Xena disappears immediately. Valkyrie stretches. Danny looks at her, says nothing. He follows her up the steps, into the house. It's cold in here.

"Make yourself some coffee," she says, and that's what he does while she busies herself in another room.

When he's done, he sits at the kitchen table, looking at his reflection in the window. They'd cleaned up at a gas station, but his face is a swollen mess and his clothes are stained with dried sweat and blood. His eyes dip to the mug off coffee he's set aside for her. Steam rises from the brim.

A few minutes later, Xena comes in. She goes right up to Danny, nuzzling her snout into his hand until he pets her.

Elsewhere, he hears water running.

Xena wander over to her bed, circles it a few times, and lies down. She rests her head on her paws, then looks up at him with wet brown eyes.

Valkyrie is standing there, in blue jeans and a jacket. Her hair is freshly washed. He hadn't heard her come in.

"Now I know why you're ninja-quiet," he says. There are two bags by her feet. "You going somewhere?"

"Home," she says.

This surprises him. "After... after everything that's happened?"

"It's time." She come forward, picks up her coffee, tastes it. "This is cold."

"You've been gone a while."

"I suppose I have."

"Why did you leave?" he asks. "I mean, I know, the trauma must have been... unimaginable, but..."

"We won," she says. "But the things I did when I was Darquesse, and the things I did later, in order to beat her... I had to leave. I couldn't stay. Not after what I'd done to..."

"Alice."

She nods. "I didn't deserve a sister or a family. Stephanie... now Stephanie deserved a family. Everything she did, she did out of love for them."

"But so did you. You said it yourself, protecting them was the reason you did _everything_."

"I did it wrong, though. I did it badly."

"You did what you had to do. I can't believe you've been living up here alone for the past five years, blaming yourself, hating yourself for the things you had to do. You saved us all."

"No. I didn't save us. Not that time."

Danny finishes his coffee. It's lukewarm. "Skulduggery sounds like... an amazing person."

Valkyrie gives one of those soft smiles. "Yeah,"

"He was a true hero, to give his life like that."

"Hmm?" says Valkyrie. "Oh, no, he didn't give his life."

Danny frowns. "He didn't? But you said he walked into the Accelerator."

She shakes her head. "I said he walked _towards_ the Accelerator. He told me later, when he was taking his hat back, that a world without him would scarcely be worth living in. No, he told me he had a plan with Ravel, one of the cleavers that was behind Ravel was used." She looked down at her feet. "He wouldn't have made it anyway he was loosing too much blood."

Danny blinks. "But... but the soul had to be given willingly."

"It was," Valkyrie says, looking back at Danny. "But there was nothing in the rules that said the soul you willingly gave had to be your own."

"And that... worked?"

"Yep. The Engineer shrugged, said Skulduggery made a fair point, it allowed the soul to shut down the Accelerator, and Skulduggery turned round and made fun of me."

There's a knock on the door, and Valkyrie glances at her watch. "That'll be him now."

Danny jumps to his feet. "Skulduggery? That's Skulduggery Peasant?"

"Probably, yeah. I called him, told him it was time I came home. It's like he said, years ago - punishment is the easy option. If I really want to make up for the things I've done, I've got to help people. If I want to make up for what I did to my sister, I have to be around her. I have to be a part of her life. She's six now, for God's sake. _Six_. She barely knows me. It's... it's time that changed." She picks up her bags. "You can let yourself out, can't you?"

"Uh.. yeah..."

Valkyrie smiles. "I'll get the rest of my stuff shipped over to me and then, I don't know..." She looks around. "I'd sell the place, but I kind of like it."

"Will I ever see you again?" Danny asks.

"You might."

"But I might be an old man, yeah? And you'll look exactly the same?"

She gives a sad smile. "Yeah. Maybe. There'll be some people calling round to talk to you. Sorcerers. Good people. They'll make sure everything is alright."

"Yeah. Cool."

She raises an eyebrow. " _Is_ everything going to be alright?"

"I... I don't know. You're asking me to return to my boring life after... after all this. After you. I don't know if I can do that."

"So don't. You have dreams, right? You don't want to spend the rest of your life running a grocery store in Meek Ridge, do you?"

"No. I... I used to have a record deal."

Valkyrie tilts her head. "Seriously? Wow. There you go. Get your record deal back. Become a rock star. Live an extraordinary life. You don't have to save the world to change it."

She taps her leg and Xena trots over. Danny goes as far as the hall with them. Through the frosted glass in the front door, he can see the dark outline of a tall, thin man, wearing a hat.

He remembers, as a kid, being scared of Santa Claus. He remembers lying in bed on Christmas Eve, curled in a ball, eyes wide, jumping at every creak the hose made, waiting for this ghostly presence to visit. He feels that same kind of fear now - fear of the supernatural, mixed with pure, undiluted excitement.

Valkyrie stops with her hand on the latch, and looks back. "You want to meet him?"

Danny hesitates - hesitates for a long time - then shakes his head. "My mind is already blown enough, that you very much. I think actually seeing a talking skeleton in person would just... I think my head would literally explode."

Her smile turns to a grin. "Yeah, fair enough. Hey, you have a good life, Danny, you hear me?"

"Same to you Valkyrie." He gives her a little wave, feels the twinge in his injured shoulder, and winces. "What'll I tell people about all this?"

"They won't believe you anyway," says Valkyrie, "So tell them the truth."

Now it's his turn to raise an eyebrow. "What, tell them about sorcerers and lunatics and kidnapping and murder?"

"Naw," she says. "Tell them the real truth. Tell them about what's really important."

"And what, if you don't mind me asking, _is_ really important?"

Valkyrie holds her hand palm upwards, and it starts to glow from within. She smiles at him.

"Magic," she says.


End file.
